The Silken Sweetness of Shifting Sands
by Pheonicia
Summary: Under the sugared light of the moons and in the shadows of desert dunes, the distinction between want and need can sometimes blur...
1. Chapter 1

_Warning - contains female slash._

_This story is set in the Twist of Fate universe, several years before that tale begins._

* * *

The air, dry and gritty, whipped against the buildings, continuing its work of whittling away the angles and corners until they resembled round dunes, simply another part of the northern deserts. Remnants of the late evening sun, flaring a brilliant red on the horizon, shone on the dwellings, turning the dark brown bricks—same colour as the sand they were fashioned from—a beautiful garnet.

It would be a spectacular sight, were there any other colours to contrast it. However, in every direction Lilia saw nothing but sand, sand, and more sand. No matter the shade, after shaking a small mountain out of her clothing on a daily basis, she doubted she'd ever truly enjoy looking at it again.

Nodding her thanks to the caravan leader as she took her pack from the wagon, she quickly surveyed the village. Ein Miervale wasn't much more than a waypoint and trading post, nothing but unrelenting desert for leagues around, nobody but determined merchants and lost travellers winding up in its boundaries.

What a perfect place to get lost in.

Shouldering her pack, she lowered the fabric in front of her lips briefly to spit out a mouthful of grit, before putting it back over her nose, ducking her head, and walking into the wind. Despite the layers of cloth wrapped around it, her face felt raw and angry, unhappy with the long hours of brilliant sun and biting breezes. It would be nice to get indoors for a change.

Assuming she'd be staying inside—perhaps the trainer she sought lived in a shelter carved out of sand...

Heading towards the largest building, the music of an Elswyeran _doub_ suggesting it functioned as the town's tavern, she wondered what sort of lessons she'd end up getting this time. Her arm still ached at the thought of the master swordsmer she'd reluctantly left behind in Skyrim—she never did find out what an Altmer was doing living in a mining community smack dab in the middle of a village full of Nords. And she still had so much she felt she might have learnt.

Ah well, surely she'd learnt enough. She could only—and frequently did—pray to the Gods that it _was_ enough...

Pushing open the door, she blinked the sand from her eyes as she adjusted to the cool gloom inside. The scent hit her first—sweet, sickly sweet, like she'd plunged her nose in a basin of honey. Dragon's breath, all the way out here in the middle of nowhere...now she knew she'd come to the right place.

Enchanted lamps provided the barest pale blue illumination, surely as cool a hue as the proprietor could make it. The haze of smoke from the twisted glass pipes curled lazily over the patrons' heads, glowing like spectral mist with the reflected icy light. While the low conversations continued, nobody pausing to overtly glance at the new arrival, she knew nonetheless every eye in the place inspected the stranger in their midst.

Lilia surreptitiously looked them over in return, making her way at a purposefully slow pace to the bar. She left the wrappings over her face, wondering how much to reveal, and to what purpose. Perhaps the one she sought wasn't here. As it stood, most of the patrons were Khajiit, the majority Cathay-Raht. She scrutinized them carefully as she quietly ordered a glass of water from the bored-looking bartender, paying the woman with only gestures of thanks, not wanting to speak too much until she knew more about who she spoke to. Leaning back against the bar, Lilia pondered her next move. Somewhere she'd find the elusive Ahziza, but it wouldn't do to go asking questions about her. She surely wouldn't appreciate it.

Bright laughter from the shadowy corner table, the lamp above it for some reason unlit, made Lilia watch the merry company from the corner of her eye. She couldn't catch all of their words, but quickly surmised they spoke of her, and in less than flattering terms. About to dismiss them, she suddenly felt her heart skip a beat when she noticed the woman seated in the very back corner.

She couldn't be anything other than Ohmes, the race distinctly different, yet so markedly similar, to the Imperials. The luxurious waves of dark brown hair, firm tilt of her chin, and slender arms might fool someone unfamiliar with the unique Khajiit, but there was a feline grace to her movements, a predatory nature to her smile, that marked her as something other than one born in the heart of the Empire. That, and the skillfully applied tattoos said to represent whiskers, fanciful swirls of dark blue curling around her eyes, curving down to highlight the pout of her mouth, plainly spoke of her Khajiiti parentage.

Holding onto her glass of water, Lilia strode directly over to the table, looking only at the woman in the far corner. The Ohmes stared back, boredom displayed on her face as she sucked up a puff of dragon's breath, a gleam of curiosity dancing in her eyes.

In her flattest accent, trying hard to sound Cyrodiilic—or failing that, at least like a Nord—Lilia pointed to an empty chair. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

A round of jeers rang out in scathing Ta'agra, given by the chorus of Cathay-Raht sitting around the table. Lilia ignored them, not removing her eyes from her quarry. Slowly the noise about her died, the others waiting impatiently for the Ohmes' response.

"The prey speaks," the woman finally stated, streams of pale purple smoke issuing from her nostrils as she exhaled. "Leave, little Imperial, before I tell my friends to unleash their claws." With a languid wave of her hand, she dismissed Lilia before relaxing further back into her chair.

Lilia spoke over the catcalls and insults, voice calm and smooth as glass as she slipped in the Aldmeris words. "I seek the _Ceyemero av ghartok_."

For the briefest moment surprise flared in the woman's face, before she managed to master herself again. She sliced her hand through the air with a blindingly fast flick of the wrist, instantly silencing those about her. Coolly, and more than a little warily, she stared up at Lilia. "So, the prey thinks it's the predator." With a derisive chortle, she gave her head the merest shake. "You are lost, _ja'imga_. _Lha'jiito,_ before the _dro-m'Athra_ swallow your tiny soul."

"_Q'zi no vano thzina ualizz_," Lilia retorted in Ta'agra, letting the words purr off her tongue, startling gasps from a few of the Khajiit nearby. Despite what the woman demanded, she wasn't going anywhere. "When I contradict myself, I am telling the truth," she repeated, this time in Common. "Need I translate my earlier words?"

The woman glared sullenly, before tilting her head up in the tiniest nod. At her motion the table emptied, confused Khajiit moving to the bar, quietly discussing the strange Imperial who spoke their tongue.

Lilia sat down, setting her drink onto the table's surface, instantly creating a ring of water from the condensation dripping off the glass. She waited patiently for the Ohmes to speak, watching as the woman puffed languidly away at her pipe, seemingly contemplating the ceiling.

"Show yourself," she finally commanded, sending a ring of smoke to drift over Lilia's shoulder. "I want to see the _ja'imga_ who so freely steals _ta'agra'iss_."

"One who is not a half-witted ape of the Empire," Lilia answered calmly, unwrapping the scarves from her head, "can't be said to steal the language of her own people."

_Ja'imga_—that was one she hadn't heard in a long time, and was certainly never called before. The disdainful nickname for the Imperials—Imga being the violent, dumb ape people of the eastern forests, while in this instance _ja_ implied the feeble mind of a child—had been much in use during the aggressive takeover of Leyawiin. She certainly never expected to be insulted as one, especially since she used to spit along with her great-great-grandfather, Faldan, whenever he uttered the curse. The term didn't hurt, though—if anything, she felt mildly amused at being mistaken for a heartland Imperial.

"You are no _ja'imga_," the woman declared, staring at Lilia's uncovered head, "but you are no _ja'khajiit_." With a long sigh she melted further down into her chair, heavy lids half-lowering over her large, dark eyes. Her relaxation went far beyond the natural, her body seemingly boneless due to the influence of the dragon's breath. "You bore me. Go." A lazy wave accompanied the muttered pronouncement.

Seeing she wouldn't get much further with the woman in such a state, Lilia leaned across the table, keeping her movements calm and smooth. "As you wish, _Ceyemero _Ahziza," she whispered as faintly as she could, sure by the way the woman's eyes snapped open at the name she'd managed to make both her words—and her message—clear.

Feeling an intense stare boring holes into her back, Lilia moved back over to the bartender, trying very hard to ignore all of the suspicious looks the Cathay-Raht gave her as they returned to their table. As she arranged for a room she made sure not to turn around, despite her burning curiosity to see the look on Ahziza's face.

After all, predators shouldn't be worried about turning their backs on the prey...


	2. Chapter 2

Without windows to answer her question, Lilia had nothing to go on but the weariness in her bones, telling her how late the hour had grown. The patrons certainly gave no clue as to the time—in dark holes like this one, the occupants perpetually wore the same bleary-eyed look, heads nodding over their continually refilled cups.

With a heavy sigh she stood, resigning herself to spending another day waiting for the Ohmes to return. It wouldn't be easy—with nothing but the choice between baking sand stinging her skin as soon as she stepped outside, or lingering in the darkness of the sweet-scented gloom inside, Lilia saw only the bleak hours of boredom stretching out endlessly before her.

She made her way down the cramped hall to her room, surprised at the unusual scent on the air—why would she smell orange blossoms in the middle of the desert? Conjuring up a brief cantrip, she smiled to herself when she saw the figure on the other side of the door—perhaps all those dull hours waiting would finally pay off.

"You're a terrible predator," Ahziza blandly pronounced from her spot on the bed, idly picking through the clothing she'd emptied onto the rough blanket. She plucked one tattered tunic, holding it aloft with an Altmeresque arch of her dark brows. "Nothing but rags and worthless trash."

Lilia felt her lips twitch, trying not to chuckle. She carried little of value when travelling, which is to say she _never_ carried anything of value. This way if she ever lost her pack, she'd not miss it. Her gold, and anything she wanted to hold on to, never left her side. "Perhaps I'd improve under the proper _emero_."

The Ohmes snorted, insolently resting her side on the bed in a way that looked perfectly cat-like to Lilia—regal, comfortable, and suggestively cozy. She flicked her hand at the pile of cast-off clothing, twitching it like a tail. "I don't know who you think I am, _jekosiit_," the insult rolled lightly off her tongue, said matter-of-factly, without malice, "but I am no one's prey."

"No, you wouldn't be," Lilia agreed, leaning against the empty dresser, surprising herself when the wobbly furniture smacked into the wall. Trying to ignore her gaffe, she continued, "To you, everyone else—and their treasures—are the prey."

"Mmm." Ahziza let out an appreciative rumble, a sort of bemused purr. She leaned forward, elegantly draping one hand off the edge of the mattress. "At least your eyes work well enough. But your hands..." she trailed off, before snickering derisively. "No, you have lazy fingers—thick and useless. You could never learn."

"Perhaps so much time in the dark has dulled your vision." Lilia crossed her arms as she gently baited the woman, wondering what task or test she would need to endure before being accepted. Why wasn't it ever simple?

And if it was, would she grow bored without the games?

A flare of anger briefly flashed through the Ohmes' eyes before a cruel, smug smirk stretched out her dark lips. "_Jekosiit_, I see even better in the dark." Swinging her legs around, she moved like liquid silk, rising with a grace Lilia painfully realized she could never hope to imitate. Her hands seemed to flutter without a muscle being used, a small box appearing on her palm, conjured through skill rather than magic.

_Damn_—the woman didn't even have sleeves to hide things in.

Seating herself on the small table in the corner, one bare foot resting on the edge, the other dangling free, she extended her arm at Lilia. Nudging the simple chair away from the table with her toe, she issued an invitation—and a challenge. "Prove me wrong. Tell me what's in this box."

Very carefully Lilia accepted it, grabbing hold of the corners with the lightest pressure she could manage, keeping it level as she sat down. Despite the simple lock holding the lid closed, she didn't think it would be so easy. Setting the box onto the table, she tried to ignore the Ohmes prowling around it—Ahziza planting one hand on the table, leaning forward and twisting about to watch Lilia work, smile of wicked contentment on her lips.

It didn't help when the woman began kicking her foot back and forth, rocking the table with impatience. Not for the first time in her life, Lilia wondered if the Ohmes felt the absence of a tail like a phantom limb—they were always twitching one thing or the other, as if trying to find an acceptable substitute. Pushing away the thought, she cleared her mind, attempting to convince herself she already knew the answer to the riddle before her.

"Enchanted lock," she murmured, tracing her fingers over the delicately wrought metal. Closing her eyes to better focus, she didn't notice the table slowly stopped moving as she spoke to herself. "Warm..._hot_ spell. Trapped with fire." She pressed her fingertips to the hinges, seeing the box in her mind. "Entire lid's trapped—when lifted, not pressed."

Laying her palm onto the surface, feeling the tingle of the trap's restless magicka writhing under her skin, she pushed her mind deeper, into the darkness below. "Parchment..._clever_. Burns even if the lid's forced." She paused, trying to wait patiently for the words to form. They finally did, causing her to burst into laughter.

Picking the box up off the table, she turned it over, grinning at the furious looking Ohmes above her. "You're not the only one who sees better in the dark," she teased, sliding the secret panel off the bottom. "And thank you for those helpful instructions—writing down the secret made it ever so much easier." Holding out the scrap of parchment between her fingertips, she tossed the empty box gently on to the table.

"_Jo'kosiit_," Ahziza hissed, combining the term for _wizard_ with the insult. She snatched the little note, crumpling it in her hand. "Why bother me, if you can open it with a spell?"

"Because I can't if I don't know how it works," Lilia calmly answered, letting the self-satisfaction of her victory slide away into humble honesty. "You're the best. _Ceyemero av ghartok_—The Shadowed Master of the Hands, as they call you in the Isles. The woman they say could rob the King of Firsthold blind—and some say already did."

Suspicion darkened the Ohmes' face, top lip twisting up in a threatening sneer as she growled out her questions. "How did you find me? Who sent you?"

"Nobody knows who you are," Lilia quickly reassured her, "or where you are." She pointed at the forgotten box. "I told you, I can see in dark places, even the thickest shadows. That is, if I have an idea of what I'm looking for."

Ahziza mulled over the answer, eyes narrowed with distrust, dangling foot tapping restlessly against thin air. "Who are you, _jo'kosiit_? Why should I not kill you now?"

"I'm Lilia," she replied with a friendly smile, "and I could destroy your tailless ass with a thought." Well, perhaps with a few thoughts, and a bit of stabbing—but she didn't think that sounded quite so impressive.

Ahziza laughed, low and throaty, the kind of laugh which made Lilia think of lazy, pleasurable mornings spent behind closed bedroom doors. She lowered her torso to the table, elbows resting near the edge. Her face hovered close to Lilia's, allowing her to get a good look at the tattoos marked into her smooth skin. "Silly _ja'khajiit_," she twitched a hand before she could be interrupted, "you amuse me. Perhaps you are clever enough to learn a bit of the _zahb_."

"Well, you know how kittens can be," Lilia joked, glad she knew enough Ta'agra to understand the words, "we love playing games."

"Let us hope this is so, little one," Ahziza stated, flowing off the table with that same lazy, languid grace. She stood next to Lilia, hip gently nudging into her shoulder, looking down with a secret-filled smile. "I have much fun in mind for you."


	3. Chapter 3

"No. No, no, no!" Ahziza snatched the offered stick from Lilia's fingers with a frustrated growl. "This isn't fit to pick teeth with! _Qa'khajakh!_" The thin piece of bamboo splintered as she snapped it in two, bitterly cursing its uselessness—or perhaps her student's uselessness—before tossing the ruined lockpick into Lilia's lap.

"I can try again—" Lilia's suggestion died abruptly as Ahziza sprang out of her seat.

"No more of this, _jo'kosiit_," she announced, palm rubbing across her forehead. Bare feet padding over the ancient stone floor, she let out a dramatic sigh as she strode to the doorway. "It is too much for me—I must lie down."

Lilia rolled her eyes at the departing woman's back, before turning her attention to the skinny lengths of bamboo on the table. While she appreciated the principle—to first understand how to open a lock, she needed to understand her tools—she wasn't entirely sold on Ahziza's insistence she learn how to whittle her own lockpicks. There was _always_ a place to buy them—if you knew where to look.

Sipping from her glass of water, Lilia suddenly grimaced, overly aware of the tangy sweat coating her lips. Ahziza's remarkable sanctuary was cool, but not enough for one dressed to protect against sand-blasts and sun stroke. Stealing a glance at the doorway behind her, she quickly debated with herself, before gathering up her items with a smile. If she had to spend her time practicing her whittling, she should at least be comfortable while doing it...

Glancing around at the old sandstone blocks as she made her way to the terrace, Lilia wondered who'd carved them, and when. Perhaps she'd attempt to scry them later on—though she guessed it would be no easy task, layers of magicka enchanted in, on, and around them.

Stepping onto the warm stones of the terrace, baked to perfection in the brilliant sunshine, Lilia slowly peeled away her heavy clothing while marvelling at the Ohmes' luxurious home. She wondered how Ahziza learnt of these ruins—relatively small in size, but more than large enough for one person, with several dark rooms built into the shelter of a massive dune. Though the spells the woman had placed on the dwelling—warded so none could see it unless invited, charmed so the interior walls would always feel chill to the touch, enchanted so the sand around the edge of the terrace allowed orange trees and blackberries to flourish—intrigued her the most. The Ohmes wasn't that powerful of a sorceress, so she must've gotten someone, or perhaps several someones, to help.

Either way, it would've cost a lot of gold, or good will, to raise her ancient home to such opulent standards.

The cold water of the pool—magically charged, of course—felt delightful against Lilia's skin. She stepped lower, until she sank up to her neck in a cocoon of damp _bliss_. With the smile of one who'd dreamt of nothing but seas and rivers for the past fortnight, she slipped below the surface.

After several dunks, a fair bit of floating, and even a few underwater rolls, she felt refreshed enough to turn her attentions back to her work. Sitting on an upper step, careful to ensure the splinters fell onto the terrace, she whittled away, almost certain her skin continued to absorb the water like a long-dried sponge suddenly plunged into a bath.

Between the glorious heat of the sun—more welcome now she had a magical barrier between the gritty sand and her skin, rather than a heavy cloth one—and the restorative chill of the water, Lilia found herself contentedly happy. She thought of nothing and everything as she carved pick after pick, pausing every now and again to dunk herself underwater.

Unaware she'd started humming, completely oblivious to the continuing journey of the sun through the sky, Lilia didn't notice the silent tread behind her. It wasn't until Ahziza stepped into the water, tiny splashes announcing her presence, did she realize she wasn't alone.

"You're a terrible predator," Ahziza murmured, handing Lilia a silver goblet, decorated with rounded emeralds, while she sat down beside her pupil. "But you're natural prey."

"Thank you," Lilia replied tartly, raising her glass to show it was gratitude for the beverage, rather than the back-handed compliment. Staring down into the dark purple liquid, she discreetly sniffed it, scenting fruit—berries, if she wasn't mistaken.

"Imported from Cyrodiil—only good thing to come from _ja'imga,_" Ahziza stated, resting her elbows on a higher step, arching her chest up in a brief stretch. "Blackberry cordial."

If Lilia were a man, she'd be marvelling at the view. Even with her distinct lack of male anatomy, the sight still impressed her. Discreetly assessing Ahziza in the comparative fashion of women, she immediately slotted her into the lucky type who she felt embodied the word _ripe_—in the most luscious, juicy, tantalizing sense of the word. Women like her needed to do nothing more than walk by a man to attract his attention. Hells—with the right kind of dress, she didn't need to do anything other than _stand still_.

Sipping on the highly sweetened drink, finding it more nectar than wine, Lilia looked over her assortment of lockpicks. Selecting a few she felt might not end up compared to toothpicks or stakes, she held them out for inspection.

"Much better, _ja'khajiit_," Ahziza complimented, leaning her shoulder lightly against Lilia's as she held the picks up to the early evening sun, twirling them to examine their silhouette. "Is the kitten ready for a new game?"

"Yes," she gratefully answered, more than happy to move on to something other than _whittling_.

Ahziza stepped out of the water without another word, prowling back into the house. Lilia watched her go, wondering at the Ohmes' age—from the view of her naked back, she could see no sign of the ravages of time, her skin still smooth, her body firm. The lack of blemishes—not a scar, freckle, or mark to be found—amazed her the most.

The thief was legendary, a myth so potent she'd taken form in a tale shared with drunken Nords, a creature of shadow woven from the tongue of a Altmer huddled in the warmth of a tavern in the land of snow, living far away from the golden isles of his birth. The nature of her home, the level of luxury she surrounded herself with, her skill—everything suggested she'd be older than Lilia. Except judging by her appearance alone, she'd guess the woman to be younger than herself by a couple of years—at the very least.

Hmm, now was it magicka, or an early start in her career, which accounted for the discrepancy? Perhaps a bit of both. Maybe the Ohmes found a way to take more than simple currency from the High Elves—they were said to jealously hoard their arcane secrets for retaining youth...

And what more tempting prize could a thief ask for, than to steal zealously guarded magics from the _Altmer_?

"Here, little one," the Ohmes beckoned upon her return, impatiently waving Lilia over to a simple table, its high-quality craftsmanship belying its humble appearance. "You can get out—the water won't run away to dream under the sands."

"You have lucky water, to sleep with the sugared light of the moons," she called back as she stepped out of the pool, playing upon the old Elsweyran expression. Reaching down to grab her clothes, she continued. "Baan Dar must surely visit it, leaving his blessings in return."

"Don't wear those!" Ahziza hissed, scowling at the dust-smudged bundle in Lilia's hands. "They pain my eyes."

"I'll get something else," Lilia coldly answered, resisting the temptation to say anything further. She may be a master thief, but Ahziza's overblown dramatic skills could use some refining.

"Later," the Ohmes growled as she grabbed the clothes from Lilia, before tossing them unceremoniously behind a blackberry bush. A delighted smile briefly lit her face as she took in Lilia's offended expression. Pointing to the table, her voice took on a coaxing tone. "Sit, like a good little _ja'khajiit_. Sit, and listen to a story."

Resolving not to retrieve her clothes until Ahziza was out of sight, Lilia grudgingly did as commanded, feeling the warmth of the sun-heated chair beneath her bare flesh. It was a nice contrast from the cool water, while the sunshine baking into her skin made her feel delightfully alive, like a wintered plant finally placed out in glorious spring light. Still, she had to find something to wear after she dried off.

Lilia mentally pondered which clothes of hers might meet with less derision from her instructor. Most likely...none of them, judging by yesterday's appraisal of her wardrobe, but she knew better than to wander about naked for long. She'd learnt that lesson the hard way, time and again when visiting her grandmother's coven, attempting to adopt the nakedness of the witches. At least nettles didn't grow in the desert...

"Listen, _ja'khajiit_. Listen well, and you hear _everything_," Ahziza purred in her ear, nectar scented breath drifting over Lilia's cheek, heavy with the cordial she drank like water.

A tinny pink followed the instructions, Ahziza slowly testing the tumblers of the basic lock, explaining the mechanisms inside. After many incorrect guesses, Lilia finally learnt to identify the note which led to success—at least, she was almost certain she heard it...

Passing the lock and pick off to Lilia, Ahziza draped herself in a nearby chair, watching her student struggle while sipping from her goblet, bemused smile twitching on her lips. As Lilia grew comfortable opening the easy lock, the Ohmes began to fidget, eyes looking all over as she sighed impatiently. "Time for a longer story," she announced as she slid off her seat, heading back inside.

Lilia took the opportunity to close her eyes as she placed her fingers on the keyhole, attempting to duplicate her success with magicka. _Find the tumblers, sense their position, convince the lock it's already open—alter its reality_...

"_Jo'kosiit_," Ahziza warned from behind, leaning into Lilia's back as she stole the lock from her grasp, "do you tire of the _zahb_ already?"

"Never." Lilia winked over her shoulder, earning a throaty laugh in her ear.

"You know the story, little one. Make it talk." After passing over the slightly more complex lock, the woman made no move to sit. Instead she watched her student work while wandering about the terrace, satisfied smile on her face. Occasionally her orange trees would catch and hold her attention, but she mostly prowled around the table, studying and interrupting her pupil.

"This is a worthy mane," she said as she passed behind Lilia once more. Her nimble fingers stole the hair trapped in the seat, tugging it out so deftly her student felt nothing more suspicious than a damp breeze over her skin. Lilia tried to keep practicing, almost certain this distraction was a test.

Though that didn't make it any easier to ignore the Ohmes gently playing with her hair, and it certainly didn't help when she held up a handful and _sniffed_ it. "You smell like Khajiit, _jo'kosiit_," Ahziza teased, loosing the moist locks to fall free. "Like an alfiq lost in the desert—full of sand and fear."

"What should I smell like?" Lilia muttered in frustration when the lock snapped shut, breaking off the end of her pick.

"Something..._tastier_, I think," Ahziza chuckled as she moved away. "Worthy prey is _delicious_ prey."


	4. Chapter 4

Lilia awoke to a loud moan.

It wasn't her moan that slid through the crack under the door like smoke, painting the walls with keening sound. Shocked into alertness, Lilia tapped impatiently at the enchanted lantern beside the bed, accidentally turning it on and off with her hasty movements. By the time she managed to send a frosty wash of blue light over the room, she'd heard enough to realize illness and injury weren't the cause of the noises.

Body still tense with her initial panicked rush of instinct, she got out of bed, deciding to find a lock to practice on. Until she managed to relax, she knew attempting to sleep would be pointless—especially with that racket going on.

Shaking her head at the unusual habits of Khajiit, she ran her hands over the inlay work of the small chest, admiring the lustrous pieces of shell skillfully placed into the ebony stained wood to form a detailed scene—willows dripping over a sparkling river, reeds and grasses lining its bank. The quality was outstanding, the chest the sort of thing she'd seen only in the castles of the wealthiest dukes and barons, and even their examples fell far short of this calibre.

Barely lifting the lid, tilting it only enough to slip a hand in while she continued to admire the scene, Lilia felt about for the most challenging practice lock. As her fingers brushed over delicate fabric, she frowned in confusion.

Pushing the lid up, she gaped at the contents of the chest, puzzlement slowly growing to anger as she pulled out layer after layer of silk. Reaching the bottom, finding only her empty pack, with the lock and picks inside, she cursed under her breath.

A throaty scream reached her ears, spurring her into action. She may be the student, she may be the supplicant, and she could even stand being the amusing new toy, but she'd be damned if she'd play the _fool_. Sorting through the swaths of silk—all varying lengths and widths—she finally found two pieces she could use.

Hands fumbling with seething annoyance, she fashioned a simple top from one, and a crude skirt out the other. Nodding to herself, silently agreeing with the furious arguments circling in her mind, she threw open her door and stormed down the unlit hall to the front room.

"The prey approaches," Ahziza gasped, brushing sweat-sticky strands of hair away from overly-dilated eyes. Curling a finger at Lilia, she purred out an invitation from her spot, displaying a dazzling amount of flexibility as she dangled over the back of a thickly padded settee. "Join us, _ja'khajiit_. This _zahb_ can _always_ use another player."

"I must decline the honour," Lilia gritted out through a false smile, speaking not to the Ohmes she wished to strangle, but the glittering eyes of her Cathay-Raht playmate. Using proper etiquette in this matter did more than keep the large Khajiit from angering—it helped prove Lilia was no judgmental _ja'imga_. "Perhaps another time."

His sharp grin, flashed in response, shot right through her chest, briefly knocking the breath from her lungs and the wind from her anger. Surrounded by Ahziza's raucous cacophony, in a room scented with sweetness and sex, little wonder a predatory smile like _that_ filled even her toes with lusty imaginings.

But while he was big and strong, nicely muscled under his fur—dark spots over a tawny coat—he was a 'Raht. After one bloodcurdling experience with a frisky Suthay-Raht, she'd vowed off any and all Khajiit with a tail. Pity he wasn't an Ohmes—from what she'd heard, they didn't have that unfortunate _barb_ problem...

Blinking to clear her thoughts—vaguely aware of the combination of weariness and lingering violet smoke in the air working to muddle them—she turned her attentions back to the blissfully oblivious Ahziza.

"_Emero_," she infected the respectful title of _master_ with syrupy sarcasm, "my clothes...?"

"Yes, yes, much better," Ahziza batted away the question with an airy flick of her hand towards Lilia's makeshift outfit, before turning her head to look at her busy friend. "Harder," she snarled, biting at the air.

_Only in Elsweyr..._

She'd never understand it, but had long since accepted it. For some Khajiit, coupling in any and all combinations was an accepted pastime, practiced in varying degrees throughout the province. While the majority kept things private, some—like the Ohmes screeching loud enough to rouse the _dro-m'Athra_—felt it to be a game best improved by the addition of any nearby who struck her fancy.

After the first few sightings, and the initial shock of being asked to join a writhing mass of strangers, the novelty began to dull. Lilia never managed to completely ignore it, but she'd long ago learnt not to stare.

She'd also learnt trying to have a conversation with anyone involved amounted to a futile exercise in wasted patience.

"No, _Emero_," Lilia snapped, "_my_ clothes? What have you done with them?"

"They're around." The hasty words flew through the air, spurred on by a narrow-eyed glare of irritation. Lilia stared boldly back, Ahziza's dark eyes appearing like polished jet in the cold gloom of the desert dawn, a stark contrast with the pallid, waxy skin surrounding them.

With an angry cry Ahziza suddenly lashed out, reaching back to sink her fingernails into the Cathay-Raht's thigh. "Harder!"

Ears flattening, he hissed at her, a dangerously feral noise of displeasure. Ahziza didn't back down, fingers burrowing into his leg as she hissed right back. Slapping her hand away, he grabbed onto his demanding playmate before slamming against her with a furious growl. Her piercing shriek—equal parts pleasure and pain by the sound of it—nearly split Lilia's mind in two.

Wincing, worrying she felt the start of a debilitating headache coming on, Lilia fled to the relative quiet of the terrace, leaving the Khajiit alone to finish their energetic _game_, almost certain they'd prolong it if they had an audience. After a brief peek around the blackberry bushes, half-hearted hope she'd find her clothes hidden behind them evaporating, Lilia resigned herself to wearing silk—and not much of it—for the time being.

Considering the furniture, before ruling it all out as too high—and therefore dangerous—to fall asleep on, she sought out a comfortable spot of sand under the orange trees. It felt cold and smooth against her bare skin, making her imagine it held lingering stories told by the moons, whispered in a voice only the desert could hear.

Attempting to ignore the screams drifting out into the dawn, Lilia pressed her ear to the ground, closed her eyes, and _listened_, hoping to be lucky enough to hear the secrets of the shifting sands.


	5. Chapter 5

"Come out, little one. It's safe...for now."

Once more, Lilia woke with a start, coughing when she inhaled a gritty gasp of air. She glared at Ahziza from her spot under the orange trees, rubbing away the sprinkling of sand coating her side in between spluttering attempts to clear her lungs. The Ohmes laughed at her plight, looking impossibly rested and radiant, as if suddenly every one of her wishes had come true. Which, Lilia ruefully noted, was probably quite an accurate assessment...

"_Ja'khajiit_," Ahziza's sweetly purring voice sparkled with amusement, "the desert is a poor hiding place for lost alfiq. So simple to find—such easy prey."

Lilia ignored the comments, instead focusing on wiping off the remaining dust clinging to her skin. The sun, nearing its midday height, burned onto her bare limbs, making her feel like a glazed sweetcake broiling in an oven. It wasn't entirely unpleasant with the cool tinge of foreign magicka sparkling around her, preventing her from overheating completely.

Already she could see the results of the desert sun's powerful caress, her skin tanned from yesterday's hours of exposure. Much more and she'd turn as brown as the dark dunes surrounding her. Hmm, would Ahziza still tease her about being easy to spot if she could disappear simply by taking off her _clothes_?

Glancing down at her apparel, she debated the word—'clothes' wasn't quite right. These were scarves...or were they veils? No—she knew what to call them.

_Silken annoyances_.

Emotion tugged in several directions at once—torn between amusement, anger, resignation, and fatigue—Lilia kept her mouth firmly shut as she stalked over towards the table. Nothing she said would adequately express how she felt, and the last thing she wanted to do was start the day off on a confrontational note (again). Besides, the tempting platter of food—fresh orange slices, cold squab cooked with sour-sweet _jhakanda_ berries, delicate mounds of vegetable studded pilaf—convinced her to keep her lips closed. She'd surely get drool on her chin otherwise.

Her stomach growled as it remembered the 'dinner' she'd eaten last night, nothing more substantial than fresh blackberries and a couple strands of _zhurrit_. The pungently salty specialty of the south, thread-like cheese tied into lover's knots, was as expensive as it was flavourful. Still, quality couldn't make up for lack of _quantity_...

A sudden laugh, low rumble layered with danger and lust, startled Lilia out of her food induced trance. The Cathay-Raht leaning against the doorway straightened up, before stalking over to the table. Carrying a bag, he spoke to Ahziza in Ta'agra, taking his leave of her _pleasant hospitality_—though the phrase never translated properly, its more secretive and sensual aspects lost in the unadorned simplicity of Common.

He draped his arm around his hostess' shoulder, a lazy gesture of ownership and superiority, while his eyes roved over Lilia's body. She could feel his gaze creeping up her thighs, sliding across her stomach, tickling her arms. His self-assured attitude, the shocking confidence he displayed—as if he could have any and every woman he saw—aroused her more than she cared to admit.

There was something about powerful men she couldn't resist, and he sent every signal that if she wanted, he'd take care of her every need—capably, and as often as she liked.

He laughed again when she picked up a small piece of meat, popping the morsel into her mouth along with her fingertips—they were sticky, coated with tart-sweet _jhakanda_. As she licked them off—discreetly—he teased Ahziza, warning her of the dangers of keeping hungry _pets_.

_Pet_—she didn't appreciate the term. Somehow it always struck her as more demeaning than _toy_. Toys at least had a defined purpose, a meaning to their role. But _pets_, if the over-indulged animals of the nobility were any indication, did nothing except exist to amuse, playing the role of mute court jesters. A cat without mice to kill, or a hound without quarry to hunt, was nothing but a useless _joke_.

"She's not a _pet_," Ahziza corrected, swatting him in a jangle of gold bracelets. Leaning into his thick chest, she continued in Common, looking insolently at Lilia as she spoke. "She claims to be a _hunter_."

Feeling the prickling heat of embarrassment colour her cheeks, Lilia made a show of calmly ignoring the comment and the accompanying chuckles. She pulled off another piece of meat, paying it overmuch attention as she did so.

The sudden grip of silk and iron around her wrist, halting the movement of the morsel to her mouth, startled a squeak of surprise from her lips. The tawny spotted hand of the Cathay-Raht tugged her up to stand, while his fingers commanded her to stay quiet and wait.

Curious, unsure whether she should be worrying or not—no help to be found in Ahziza's expression of smug amusement, certain the Ohmes would wear the same look regardless of her guest's intentions, so long as she ended up amused. Lilia watched as he stole a slice of orange with nimble fingers, before popping it into his mouth.

As he leaned in, guiding the squab to her lips with his own following close behind, she felt the scorching fire of need kindle within her, exacerbated by the smooth feel of his fur against her skin, and the sweet flavour of orange on his breath. She hastily swallowed, barely tasting the food, before returning the kiss.

She melted into him, resting her palms on the arms gripping her tightly, restraining her desire to rub them all over the smooth friction of his body in encouragement. His hands suffered no such restraint, one crushing her against his chest, the other stealing up the back of her thigh to the sensitive flesh lying bare under her makeshift skirt. He pinched and squeezed with experienced precision as he pulled her hips closer, starting to steal her resolve along with her breath.

She wanted more, and by the firmness pressing against her belly, she was certain he did too. Separated by nothing more than the cloth of his breeches, could _feel_ it, feel...the reason _why_ she couldn't have any more. The disturbing memories of her first, and last, attempt at bedding a Khajiit doused her ardour more effectively than a drop into a Skyrim lake in the middle of winter. While _in_ wasn't a problem, any movement _out_ certainly was—as she'd discovered over the course of several long minutes, a lot of yelling, and a half-dozen healing spells...

He felt the change in her response, letting her go with a rueful smile. Mmm, that's what she loved about men like him—they weren't cocky, and they never pressured. They never had to. After a final farewell to Ahziza, he took his leave along with his bag, striding past the magical boundaries into the grit-filled desert wastes.

"He could be called back," Ahziza murmured, her offhand comment carrying along with it the embarrassing revelation Lilia stood frozen as a statue, gaping at his retreating figure.

"No, that's...no, thank you," she stammered, sitting down while resisting the desire to steal another backwards peek. The prowling way he moved turned a simple departure into a lethally attractive art form...

Ahziza watched her, the stare observant and calculatedly neutral, yet somehow unnerving. Lilia felt like she was being _tracked_, not studied. Lounging onto the table, head propped up on one arm, Ahziza finally spoke. "You want, yet you do not take. Little wonder you're _qa'khajakh_."

"What?" Lilia demanded with a mouthful of orange, glaring hard at the Ohmes. Ahziza didn't bat an eye at the show of displeasure.

"As a hunter, _ja'khajiit_," she replied in a low voice, disarmingly smooth. "Hunters do not wait for offers—they _take_ what they want, when they want. They do not let their prey get away."

Ahziza waved a bangled arm absently at the desert, vaguely in the direction of the Cathay- Raht's trail. As she never offered any introductions, Lilia didn't even know his name—given what she knew of associating with the kinds of people who the Legion, along with perhaps a few nobles and maybe even a king or two, would be eager to talk to, it was probably better she didn't ask.

"You _want_, little one," Ahziza said with a dip of her shoulders as she leaned closer. "I can smell it on you, under the fear and sand. It rolls off you in the dark. But you do not _take_. Why?"

"I don't want—" Lilia started to answer, before seeing the perception sparkling in Ahziza's eyes, the Ohmes able to sort falsehood from fact. "I'm not...I'm able to take care of my own needs," she finally snapped, trying not to open up a discussion of frequency, combinations, or positions—Khajiit like the one across from her could, and did, talk far too freely about personal experiences for her tastes.

"Ah," the noise rolled out from Ahziza's throat, a strange sort of satisfied purr. "You prefer to play the game alone?" Flicking her hand in an excess of expensive jingles, she encouraged Lilia with a hungry smile. "Enjoy yourself, little one. Show me how you hunt your pleasures."

Feeling the conversational ground slowly starting to give, Lilia paused before answering, trying to figure out what to say to end it. "I'm preying on my food right now," she blandly replied, hoping that would work.

It didn't, Ahziza loosing a low laugh redolent of bare skin and smooth lips. "That makes it all the _tastier_. Truly worthy."

The glittering of her dark eyes faded away as Lilia responded politely. "Thank you, but I'll wait."

Sighing dramatically, Ahziza pushed off the table and slumped back into her chair in an arm-crossed huff. "You sound like the dull _ja'imga_," she stated peevishly, foot bouncing against the ground. "Their bleatings of _restraint_ bore me."

Lilia waited until the woman strode off in one of her characteristic fits of impatience before snickering to herself. How she did love the Khajiit—only in Elsweyr could she disappoint her hostess by _not_ pleasuring herself at the breakfast table...


	6. Chapter 6

"Lazy, _qa'khajakh_ fingers," Ahziza growled, batting the sprung trap from Lilia's hands. The little box clattered over the cool floor, kicked away to prevent Lilia from picking it up. "I can take no more of this."

"Is there something I should practice?" Lilia called out as the Ohmes stalked from the room, hand pressed to her forehead in a pantomime of fatigued boredom. Ahziza didn't bother answering, waving the question away with a contemptuous flick of her wrist as she disappeared down the dark hallway.

Sighing as tension eased from her shoulders, Lilia welcomed the break. Ahziza grew increasingly edgy as the afternoon wore on—transferring her lessons from the terrace into the cool blue gloom of the lanterns. The thief's patience, not her strong point to begin with, wore thin until everything and anything seemed to make it snap.

Flexing her fingers, trying to work the stiffness from them, Lilia briefly debated trying yet again to handle the pressure sensitive little practice box without triggering the trap. Eyeing it coldly, she chose instead to leave it on the floor, and let her hands rest. She turned to the bookshelf, intending to pick out something to while away the hours of Ahziza's afternoon nap...

Odd. The shelves, while adorned with glittering glass vases and gleaming silver plates, didn't hold a single book. As Lilia strode through the living areas of the home, she came to the conclusion either Ahziza locked all of her books away in her private quarters, or she didn't own any.

Not seeing a better way to spend her time, and feeling rather restless after hours spent hunched over increasingly complex boxes of traps, she slipped out into the sunshine heat of the afternoon. After a struggle to unknot her hastily constructed silken annoyances, she jumped into the blissful refreshment of the magically chilled pool. When in the desert, she found she couldn't get enough of the water; but when she was on the seas, she'd dream of nothing but dry land...

After a long, languid splash, and the realization she might nod off in the water if she wasn't careful, she reluctantly left the pool behind. Cool sprinkles of magicka coated her bare skin, a deliciously icy sharp contrast against the scorching sun. Arranging herself face down on a waiting mat of dry linen, she tucked her arms up under her forehead, draped her hair over her face to create a cool cocoon of darkness, and let her mind wander in a haze of sunshine caresses and the distant noise of shifting sands.

She dozed happily, unaware of how long she rested, not caring about her idleness. In between memories and imaginings she dreamt, the boundaries between sleep and wakefulness blurring until the phantom feel of a touch or whisper of a breeze reached out from her imagination to slide over her skin. It wasn't until one such touch lingered, gentlest graze of fingertips on her back, that she finally pulled her mind from its luxurious rest.

"No wonder the little alfiq smells of fear. She knows the sharp greeting of the senche-raht." Ahziza ran her fingers down furrowed flesh, tracing the long contours from shoulder blade to hip, before stroking the short, deep grooves running across them mid-back.

"Why would she fear one she knows to be dead?" Pushing the dried waves of hair from her face, Lilia looked over her shoulder at the Ohmes. Sipping blackberry cordial from a bejeweled goblet, dark eyes glowing with remembered—or were they anticipated?—pleasures, she certainly seemed to be in a better mood. Had she already indulged one of her several bad habits?

"Mmm, silly _ja'khajiit_," Ahziza murmured into the rim of her glass, pausing to take a slow sip. Her hand, having traced down the long scars, rested idly at the end of them—fingertips placed in the grooves, palm draped on one cheek. "Why wouldn't the alfiq still cower from one she couldn't kill?"

"She could now," Lilia muttered, vaguely discomfited by the Ohmes' perceptiveness, and mildly bothered by her words. She could take care of herself—she was sure of it.

_Mostly_.

"Perhaps _this_ senche-raht, maybe," Ahziza mused absently as she resumed her exploration of the scars, her fingertips straying further onto the unmarred flesh surrounding them, raising goosebumps on Lilia's thighs. "But she fears as only prey can."

Twisting away with a tired sigh, Lilia rose to her feet, growing irritated with the continual condescension of being called _prey_. "I'm not frightened of you," she snapped, wrapping a length of silk around her waist.

Ahziza laughed, a noise filled with pleasures of all sorts, heavy with amusement. "Of course not, little one." She stood with liquid grace, leaving her goblet resting at her feet. Waving away Lilia's hands in a tinkle of golden bangles, she stole the long length of silk. With breathtaking skill, barely disturbing the cascade of wayward waves dripping down Lilia's back, she managed to slide it across the back of her neck. "_This_ one," Ahziza paused to press her hand to her heart, before resuming her tugging to make the ends even, "would never scare you."

"Then I don't know what you're talking about." Lilia's voice held a note of exasperation. Looking down, she watched as the Ohmes deftly crossed the silk over her chest, covering her breasts in a makeshift halter. Oh, so that's what she was supposed to do with it.

Ahziza chuckled as she reached around to tie the ends behind Lilia's back, amusement tickling over her shoulder. Inspecting her handiwork, tugging curls out of the edges, she let out a low, rumbling purr. "I see better in the dark, little kitten. You weave your shadows thick, but you cannot hide from me." Already close, she leaned in a bit further, dark eyes flashing, body taut with predatory tension. "_This_ one," she whispered smugly, pressing the flat of her hand over Lilia's heart, "terrifies herself."

"I'm not—" Lilia started to protest, making sure not to back away, not to show weakness.

"You call yourself _Khajiit_," Ahziza hissed, cutting her off abruptly, "yet you act as _ja'imga_. You claim to hunt, but you hide like prey. You _want_, but you will not _take_." She stroked her fingers up Lilia's throat, fingernails raising trails of scratchy excitement in their wake. "You deny yourself your pleasures, little one," she murmured as she traced invisible whiskers over Lilia's cheek, "even when offered. Why would you say _no_, when you want to say _yes_?"

Lilia opened her mouth, quite prepared to offer the multitude of reasons she maintained a level of self-control, but Ahziza silenced her with her hands—thumbs pressing over her lips as they softly cupped her face.

"Because you're scared you'll _like_ it. What is the difference between a hunter and a peasant?" Ahziza didn't wait for an answer, supplying it as she fluttered her fingers over Lilia's face, making her entire body tingle in a strangely delightful way. "The peasant tracks from _need_, the hunter tracks from _want_."

"I don't see the difference," Lilia stated, voice flat and unimpressed.

Ahziza laughed loudly, reaching down to retrieve her goblet. Straightening back up, she smiled a dangerous, cunning smile. "Because, little one," she whispered in Lilia's ear as she snaked past, curves brushing against curves, "they both look the same to the prey."


	7. Chapter 7

"No, _jo'kosiit_, your magics aren't allowed here." Ahziza, pausing in her restless prowling of the terrace, rested her chin on Lilia's shoulder, watching her student's cheating performance. "Your fingers are too lazy."

"As you keep telling me," Lilia huffed, resetting the trap with seething determination. She _would_ figure out how to do this—without magic. It wasn't as though it were the real thing, many times more sensitive to a clumsy fumble. This was the easiest version, mocked up for simple practice. A _toy_, as Ahziza termed it, appropriate for even the youngest kitten.

With a bemused rumble, Ahziza padded back to the house, body slinking in a seemingly boneless fashion, her evening habits further loosening her already lithe limbs. Judging by the amount of _melt_ in her movements, Lilia took comfort in that the lessons for the evening would soon be over.

Ignoring Ahziza's return, frowning at the box in frustration, she tried again. There went the pick...there was the little thread...now to just—

"Godsdamnit!" Lilia lashed out, smacking the box to send it flying across the terrace. Running her fingers through her hair, pressing firmly onto her scalp as if trying to massage some calm back into it, she quickly felt her anger melt into self-reproach. Venting accomplished nothing—temper was something to control, not indulge.

"_Ja'khajiit_," Ahziza's gentle voice, made of silk and shadows, soothed her spirit, "I think the kitten tires of her game." Untangling the fingers trapped in a prison of hair, Lilia held her palm flat as per her teacher's wishes. Feather soft strokes drifted over her skin, Ahziza alternating each quick caress of her fingers with shockingly fast speed and precision.

Lilia watched, trying to trace the sensation with the movement, hoping to decipher how to do it herself. Her concentration frequently wavered, distracted by the unusual way the Ohmes' touch made the soles of her feet tingle. Did nerves connect one spot to the other? They certainly seemed to extend from her hand to more sensitive places...

"A new _zahb_ for you, little one. Perhaps it will be more to your liking." Somehow, in between the rapid fluttering of her hands, Ahziza produced a small ball from the air. Shaped and sized as a child's toy, not even as wide as her palm, it glowed with a soft enchantment. "Watch," Ahziza snapped, voice sharp with command.

Lilia tried not to blink, attempting to track the movements of the orb as it rolled in seemingly impossible ways over Ahziza's forearms—across the back of a hand, spinning on a fingertip, even rolling around her wrist.

"It does not like pressure—like you, I think." Pinching the orb between her thumb and forefinger in demonstration, it suddenly flared a dark red. Ahziza dropped it into Lilia's waiting palm, where it slowly shifted back to its original cold white hue. "Do not play with it as your other toys." With a snort of derision she left her pupil behind, moving off to retrieve the mistreated practice trap.

Staring at the ball on her skin, surprised at how she barely felt it, as if it was made of nothing more substantial than light and air, Lilia tilted her hand experimentally to the side. It shot off in the direction of her fingers. Instinctively, she curled them up to hem it in, catching it in a scarlet example of what not to do. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, slowly getting the feel for the way it clung to her skin—so long as she kept her hand moving, it wouldn't fall off.

Now, if only she could keep up with it. The little ball increased in speed the longer she played with it, slowing each time she failed to keep pace, or squeezed too hard. Attempting a coordinated fluttering of her fingers—ring to pinky over and over again—she didn't realize Ahziza had brought more out with her than a new toy for her student.

"Orange?" the Ohmes offered as she slumped into her chair, hooking one leg to dangle over the armrest. She batted the small plate across the table, stealing a slice with nimble fingers as it slid away. "No, _ja'khajiit_, keep playing."

Nodding in agreement, not able to handle talking and practice at the same time, Lilia set the ball in motion again. Keeping her eyes on it, trying not to let it get away from her, she used the edges of her vision to guide her other hand. Much to Ahziza's delight it frequently paused, occasionally tapping out a sympathetic rhythm against the table's surface. Laughing at the clumsy attempts to separate one slice from the others, Ahziza poured herself another glass of cordial. "Lazy fingers, little one. Such lazy fingers."

Letting out a long exhalation, Lilia tried to ignore the comments and the distracting motion of Ahziza's dangling leg, drawing impatient circles in the air in time with the ball rolling over her fingers. Ever so slowly she brought the slice of orange closer, trying not to accidentally clench it and spill juice all over the table. Not a simple task as the ball approached the limits of her speed.

"Almost," Lilia gasped, grabbing the ball before it could fall to the terrace. Her tired eyes scanned the tabletop for drips as she grinned over at Ahziza. Instead of praise, condemnation, or even thinly veiled contempt, the detached observation of the Ohmes' dark eyes startled her blood cold. That look—blank beyond normal expression—she'd seen only at the worst times in the faces of others. It appeared on the killer, waiting for the unsuspecting victim to look away. It lingered on the necromancer, impatient for the spare parts to die.

And it vanished when Ahziza suddenly looked up at the stars, ignoring the woman across from her as she sipped her beverage. Blinking in confusion, Lilia stared at the table, reminded by the juice running down her fingers she still hadn't eaten her orange. It smelt wonderful and looked even better, the pale light of the moons reflecting off the glittering sparkles of juice...

_Wait_. Juice didn't _sparkle_.

"The sweeter the prey, the sweeter the pleasure," Ahziza purred, explaining the inconsistency when Lilia leaned forward to take a better look. "My sugar's the sweetest."

"I'm sure it is," Lilia answered quietly, placing the fruit in her hand back on the plate. "But I'll have to take your word for it."

"Come, little one," Ahziza called out as Lilia slid out of her chair, walking over to wash her hands off in the pool, "are you not Khajiit? Only _ja'imga_ say no to sugar and moonlight."

"I am Khajiit, among other things," Lilia sighed as she splashed water over her palm, not certain how to explain herself to Ahziza, especially in the Ohmes' intoxicated state. No wonder her eyes appeared strangely black—moonsugar dilated pupils completely open.

That could be why the Ohmes claimed to see better in the dark.

"Then why deny yourself the best of pleasures?" Ahziza leaned onto the table, resting her upper body on the wood.

"My _dro-ravi_," Lilia answered calmly as she returned, settling herself back in her chair, "warned me not to. Said I might take to it like the _ja'imga_."

Ahziza laughed dismissively, waving her arm languidly in the air. "_Might_," she snorted. "_Might_ is a frightened word. Might fail, might work—no, I do not like this word." Letting her hand fall back to the table, she poked Lilia's fingers. "If Khajiit is in you, little _kitten_, sugar already sweetens your blood."

"Be that as it may," Lilia answered, tucking her hands away on her lap, "I'll pass for now."

"Mmm," Ahziza murmured, melting onto the table as she snatched an orange slice for herself. She grinned at Lilia, dark eyes twinkling with the light of the dancing stars, skin glowing in a wash of moonlight. She looked beautiful and vibrant, and yet...

And yet, Lilia couldn't help feeling thinking of her as a thief, her radiance stolen from the brilliance of external light and pleasure, her inner charm barren as the desert wastes.


	8. Chapter 8

She did it.

Holding the open box out in her hand, showing it off to the Ohmes puffing away on her pipe, Lilia couldn't help smiling with delight. Finally, after practicing with it in between lessons, using it to occupy herself during Ahziza's drug-hazed evenings or long afternoon naps, she successfully opened the simple trap without magical aid.

"The hunter tastes the sweetness of her prey," Ahziza murmured, cloud of violet smoke shrouding her soft words. "It is good, little one?"

"_Delicious_," Lilia answered with a giggle, nudging her shoulder against Ahziza's as she struggled to maintain her balance. The perfumed smoke filling the room sank into her lungs, bringing with it the relaxed weight of heavy limbs and a general feeling of well-being.

Ahziza set the pipe between them, pouring herself off the furniture before disappearing to her room. Or rooms—Lilia still wasn't sure what lay beyond the enchanted door; so many layers of magical locks, wards, and charms set upon it she hadn't dared scry, certain it held a trap against even that relatively innocuous activity.

She set the box on the floor, looking around at the dimly lit space. Shadows hung heavy in the corners, murky with stale smoke. The soft shush of rain came to her—funny how similar it sounded to the steady flow of shifting sand. Tonight the moons kept their secrets to themselves, glad to let the rare rain entertain the desert for once. She could feel the dampness of it in the air, making her wonder if the sand reveled in it as much as she did.

Lilia waited, toying with the pipe beside her, watching the steady vapour of the drug of choice of the High Elves escape through the vent in the top. Pale blue light glimmered at the edge of it, highlighting the billowing clouds in an icy glow—not a trick of the enchanted lanterns, but a sign of purity.

Sign of _wealth_.

All but the richest smoked a cheap imitation of the drug. She'd tried it in seedy bars, often sharing the pipestem with another pair of lips, and while mildly enjoyable, she'd never fully understood the allure. But then, she'd never experienced the real thing before...

Furtively glancing over her shoulder, certain the Ohmes hadn't returned, Lilia pressed the pipe to her lips, feeling both guilty and giddy. Taking a deep inhalation, trying not to rush it, she felt the tingle of magicka seeping into her chest. Somehow cold and hot at the same time, it bit gently around her heart while tracing chills down her spine.

Holding it in as long as she could stand, she finally exhaled in short puffs, trying to create the smoke rings she'd been taught to blow by the last pair of lips she'd shared a pipe with. The first couple of attempts fell flat, but she managed to create a few by the time she emptied her lungs.

"Your fingers may be lazy," Ahziza purred, startling Lilia into fumbling awkwardness. She prowled to the divan, small golden box in her hands. Curling up on the cushions, she leaned against Lilia's side as she ducked down to draw a breath from the pipe—still clutched on her surprised pupil's lap. The thick lengths of the Ohmes' hair drew patterns on Lilia's skin as it spilled across her shoulder, before sliding further down to tickle her chest.

With a devilish grin, the Ohmes puffed out a concentric trio of circles, sending the last one to blow through the centres of the first two. Leftover smoke poured from her lips as she finished her thought. "But not your tongue."

Lilia chuckled, not minding the woman draping herself against her arm. She'd grown used to Ahziza's constant petting, a trait she'd encountered in more than a few Khajiit. They leaned and touched without thinking a thing of it, and she'd come to see it for what it was—comforting and innocent. Since the only touches she usually got were either violent, or far too rarely an evening of pleasure, she rather enjoyed it.

"Another _zahb_?" Lilia asked, nodding down to the gleaming box, wondering what sort of trap, lock, or enchantment this one would contain.

"No, _ja'khajiit_, the games have all been played," Ahziza murmured, sinking even further against Lilia's side. She'd shift to move the limp weight to a more comfortable position, but she didn't feel like spending the effort—her limbs felt so pleasantly tired.

The Ohmes' dark eyes sparkled under their heavy lids as she cracked open the box. Licking her lips—an action Lilia derived an absurd amount of amusement from—Ahziza whispered her explanation. "Trophies of the successful hunt."

Lilia gasped at the contents—she recognized some of the pieces from description alone. Placing the smouldering pipe absently on the floor, she pointed at a large ring set with a carved bloodstone. "Is that...?"

"Of course, little one," Ahziza purred, straightening herself by climbing up Lilia to hold the box closer. "They all are."

Clearly delighted with her student's awe, the retired thief gladly pulled out treasure after treasure, sharing stories of her triumphs and skill. Lilia gladly listened, astounded by the tales, yet believing them—there had to be a reason the Ohmes was legendary, after all.

"Lazy _qa'khajakh_ fingers," Ahziza grumbled, attempting to tug off a ring she'd plunked onto Lilia's hand. It didn't quite fit, and now it didn't want to come off. "Little wonder they're _fat_."

"They're not fat," Lilia corrected with a laugh, taking over as the Ohmes picked through her collection of jewels. "They're thick," she stated, handing back the ring with a grin.

"Mmm," Ahziza absently replied, pulling a large silver locket from the box. The moonstone in the centre, surrounded by lustrous pearls of unsurpassed quality, glowed even in the dim light of the lanterns.

"_No._" The word tumbled out before Lilia could halt it, her disbelief dissolving into the thick air. "That can't be—they say he still has it amongst his treasures!"

"Then they never looked," Ahziza answered, draping it over the back of Lilia's hand. "They think they have many things, _ja'khajiit_, but the shadows live down there—they can't see to miss them."

"Yes but...the _Memory of Magnus_!" Lilia whispered the term, afraid to say it too loudly, amazed it rested against her skin. It was ancient, it was famous, it was gorgeous...

...and it was surprisingly _mundane_. Not a hint of power to it, no lingering enchantment in its links, no blessing resting on its stone. Tracing a fingertip over it, she frowned, very surprised by its normalcy.

"The _jo'kosiit_ can see, can't she?" Ahziza chuckled, pressing herself up with the hand resting on Lilia's thigh. "Kings of Firsthold praise their little bauble when it does nothing but _sit there_. Renowned and _useless_."

"The same's been said about the Altmer," Lilia muttered, holding the ancient locket up for inspection. Was that a hinge?

Laughing loudly, Ahziza snapped the lid of her box shut, setting it to the side in between wracking giggles. "_Qa'khajakh_ indeed," she agreed. "Like them, it does not please my eyes. Silver, not gold? Pah." She batted the air, disdaining the trinket.

"It's beautiful," Lilia protested as she ran her thumbnail around the base of the moonstone. There, that felt about right.

The stone popped open, surprising Ahziza into a rare moment of alert stillness. Their foreheads briefly pressed together as they peered inside to find...

"Nothing. _Qa'khajakh_," Ahziza grumbled. "Too small for anything but sugar." She frowned at the offending amulet, disappointed in her prize. The expression softened as a faint smile crept over her lips. "Hmm." Tilting her head, lips pressed together in thought, she held the necklace against Lilia's arm before suddenly springing over the back of the divan.

"Move, _ja'khajiit_," she hissed as she shoved her student forward. Confused yet cooperative, Lilia did as asked, feeling the relaxation of the silk around her chest as its knots came loose. Ahziza tossed the fabric to the side before fastening the amulet around her student's neck. Leaping back onto the cushions with easy agility, she arranged herself astride Lilia's thighs, surveying the results of her inspiration.

"The little alfiq grows dark as the desert," she breathed, tracing a pale fingertip against the dusky skin surrounding the amulet, drawing circles on Lilia's chest. "Is she worthy of it, I wonder." Leaning closer, her full lips sparkling with suggestive promises, she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Does she _want_ it?"

Unsure of the purpose of this test, Lilia stared back into the dark eyes hovering in front of her, pondering what the correct answer would be. "Well, I don't know what I'd do with it. I don't need the gold—"

"No!" Ahziza spat out, eyes narrowing into angry slits. "No _need_. Need belongs with prey and peasants. Need is _nothing_." Rubbing her hand over her lips, she sighed heavily. "Are you not Khajiit?" At Lilia's perplexed nod she grinned, a predatory smile of teeth and temptation. "Every kitten _wants_, little one." Tracing a curling design across Lilia's cheek, reminiscent of her own tattoos, she leaned even closer. "I wonder—what will make you _take_?"

The sudden press of full lips, softest she'd ever kissed, froze Lilia into inaction more effectively than any paralysis spell. This was rather..._unexpected_. Yet not entirely unwelcome—how could it be, when Ahziza tasted so good, sweeter than honey, sweeter than cordial, soul-searingly _sweet_...

With a gasp she pulled back, panting as she caught her breath, staring in wide-eyed shock at the devious creature before her. Ahziza licked the corner of her mouth, catching an errant grain of sugar, before smiling smugly, without a hint of contrition.

"There remains one _zahb_ we haven't played, little one." Her hands whispered across her captive's chest, so faint it felt like nothing more than a breeze, but the fires it ignited asserted otherwise. "You choose the next move."

Lilia closed her eyes, trying to ignore her body's treacherous impulses—the cries for satisfaction, the tempting curiosity, and the thrilling sensation spreading out from her lips as the sugar took hold. She should be furious right now. She should throw Ahziza's tailless ass across the room. She should shout and scream until her voice gave out.

_Should_—that was almost as bad as _might_, wasn't it? A word of necessity and need, a practical word of duty, a word which knew nothing of the allure of _temptation_, failed to understand the thrill of _maybe_, lacked a grasp on the urgency of _now_.

Surrounded by a violet caress of smoke, sound of rain in her ears, silken sensation of skilled fingers playing over her skin, she tried to argue the side of restraint, patiently answering every impulsive demand of _why_?

That is, until she found herself stumped with a new question—_why not_?

"More," she croaked as she opened her eyes, finding her voice under a fog of dragon's breath and taint of moonsugar. Grabbing Ahziza's slender shoulders, she tugged the grinning Ohmes closer. "I want it _all_."

"Play well, _ja'khajiit_, and you may have it," Ahziza whispered, passing her hand over her lips. They emerged sprinkled with crushed diamonds, topped with fresh snow—gorgeous, inviting, and begging to be touched.

The sugar tasted even sweeter—not sickly as syrup, or cloying as honey—a flavour so pure her whole body could _savour_ it. It didn't numb the mouth greedily searching out every speck, nor did it dull the skin receiving unmercifully wonderful teasing—rather, the drug seemed to heighten her senses, sharpening them to brutal clarity.

"The little alfiq has claws," Ahziza purred appreciatively, touching a finger to her swollen lips as she sat up. "Yes," she suddenly hissed, pressing Lilia back against the divan when she reached up, intending to continue her rough treatment of that _sweet_ mouth, "she plays very well." Running her fingers up her captive's neck, she danced soft patterns over one tingling cheek, the sugar causing each faint tap to register as an explosion of pleasure.

Lilia groaned when fingertips grazed over her lips, torn between want and need—wanting more exquisite torment, needing more moonsugar. A fevered voice whispered in her mind, telling her _more_ awaited, so much more of _everything_, if she journeyed further down the crystalline path of the moon's secrets. She licked and nibbled the fingers stealing into her mouth, not sure if she pleased or pained, not sure if it mattered.

"More?" Ahziza teased cruelly, eyes sparkling with malicious enjoyment. At some point she'd removed her clothes—or had she always been bare? Either way, Lilia didn't care about anything except watching the nimble fingers drawing moist circles over one luscious breast, and even those were forgotten when the sparkling sugar suddenly appeared, clinging to damp, sensitive skin.

The Ohmes shrieked as she fell heavily against the cushions, surprised by a sudden pounce. Her struggles to squirm into a more comfortable position faded as the attack commenced. Yearning in a way she never had before, Lilia pinned the mewling woman down, mouth seeking out sweetness, mind barely aware of the dichotomy of the body below her. It was different—far different from a man's, made of yielding curves and smooth skin, not hard angles and firm muscles. And yet it was intimately familiar, a mirror image of her own, the contours her frame always wore to be experienced from the other side for a change.

Experience them she did, exploring with hands and fingers, led by a trail of crystallized moonlight and the noisy demands of the panting Ohmes writhing beneath her. Every scream—both pleasure and pain—excited her. The sugar made everything better, blissful, and somehow beautifully bitter. She loved Ahziza as she teased with the gentlest caress of a tongue—loved her for introducing her to this game, loved the beauty of her body, loved the sweet smell of her, a glorious mixture of orange blossoms, blackberry nectar, and sex.

She also loathed her as she pinched, crushing perfect skin between her fingers—loathed her perceptiveness, loathed how she used her fears against her, loathed the fact she'd been _right_. Kindness and cruelty blurred in the strange light of moonsugar, twisting and melting until they appeared indistinguishable, two sides of the same coin. The intensity of the cries Ahziza loosed, keening yowls accompanied by a frenzied attack of hands—pushing away, pulling close, she seemed to want both at once—guided Lilia more so than the timbre of the sounds, the relative mixture of pain or pleasure she inflicted a trifling matter compared to the ferocity of the sensation.

In a timeless haze of enjoyment, she tortured the Ohmes, trying to make each successive shriek a bit louder, clamping down the squirming limbs attempting to get away as they shuddered uncontrollably in bliss (agony?). She carried on even when her (lazy) fingers burnt with fatigue, not stopping when tears dripped from Ahziza's black eyes.

It took a powerful shove, knocking her off the divan to land hard on the floor, before she finally ended her turn. Sprawled on her back, Lilia laughed, feeling absolutely delighted with herself when she looked at the devastated figure of the Ohmes dripping off the cushions.

"How," Ahziza rasped, voice rough with the grit of overuse, "can the mighty senche-raht lurk inside the tiny alfiq?" Her hand twitched, a lingering spasm making her gasp for breath. Resting for several long moments, she waited until she recovered relative control over her body before daring to speak again.

She grinned down at the woman on the floor, a pure smile of pleasure. "You think yourself far too clever at the _zahb_, little one." Sliding herself off the sofa, she eased closer. "You forget the next turn belongs to me."

The initial counter-move made Lilia moan, her entire body far too sensitive with the sweetness coursing through her veins, exciting her nerves until the softest touch felt like searing torment and the cruelest bite like perfect bliss. Ahziza knew the game far too well—she could set her victim to writhe with nothing but a fingertip. And what skilled fingertips she had...

"_More_," Lilia managed to plead during a rare respite. Her limbs felt like jelly—only twice as wobbly and half as sturdy. Her entire body _burned_ for release, each new torment only adding to the tension coiling through her, but failing to ignite the final spark. So close, and yet so devastatingly far...

"Soon, I think," Ahziza purred, nipping at one sweat-drenched thigh, earning a small shriek from the woman quivering before her. "But not yet."

She resumed her wicked torment, but added another shockingly cruel layer to the game, laying feather soft caresses over the achingly sensitive flesh yearning for attention. It wasn't enough, never enough, no matter how much Lilia begged, or how desperately she arched her hips up in a bid to increase the pressure.

The beautiful cruelty was too much to take, tears running from her eyes at the tantalizing helplessness of her situation—while she cried for more, she also never wanted it to end. "Now, _ja'khajiit_," Ahziza whispered as she kissed a damp cheek, "is the time, I think. Let us finally see how worthy—_delicious_—this prey is."

It took nothing more than the merest flick of a tongue to set Lilia off, making her shriek as sensations overwhelmed her—ecstasy pulsing through her in waves, causing her sugar-sensitive skin to explode in the raw pleasure-pain of over-stimulated nerves. She wanted it to stop almost as much as she wanted it to continue—but it didn't matter, as she could do nothing but experience and respond while Ahziza unmercifully tortured her, each stroke of her finger or press of her lips somehow making it that much worse—or was it better?

Somehow it was both, the extremes of both bliss and agony enveloping her, tugging at her mind until she thought it would shatter. She flinched and jerked until her muscles ached, cried until her voice gave out, and still she welcomed it even as it destroyed her.

"No wonder you terrify yourself, little one," Ahziza murmured as she draped herself over the still twitching woman, stopping the game for the luxury of a rest. "When you start to take, you never stop."

Lilia tried to answer, unable to do much more than croak out a gasp. Ahziza laughed, the vibrations of her amusement enough to turn her pupil's feverish skin into shivering goosebumps. "Does the kitten want_ more_? Fear not, _ja'khajiit_," she paused to steal a painfully wonderful kiss, "I still have much fun in mind for you."


	9. Chapter 9

The colour hurt her eyes.

Or rather, _everything_ hurt her eyes, prompting Lilia to moan as she attempted to look about the unfamiliar room. The sound failed to form, her voice stolen sometime during the night, but she did managed to huff out a breath of pain.

Forget her eyes—her _everything_ hurt.

So this was the famous fall after a night filled with moonsugar—among other indulgences. Those accompanying pleasures certainly left a mark of their own if her pained eyes were to be believed. Scratches, bites, and bruises dotted her arms, and she knew the rest of her surely looked far worse, if half of what she recalled was true.

Taking her time, trying to ignore the stink of the pillow (feathers, she suddenly couldn't stand the scent of feathers), she attempted to coax her magicka into a helpful form. The healing spells she washed over her aching body refreshed—a little. Most of the soreness remained, along with a pounding headache, a queasy stomach, and an intense thirst.

Trying to roll over elicited another silent groan of agony. Her joints protested every movement, feeling as though they were filled with ground glass—gritty, sharp, and painfully raw.

The knock on the door banged through her mind out of sync with her headache, inciting it to increase its tempo to match. Lilia attempted to answer, but couldn't do anything more than croak. After another barrage of knocks she used a woefully-woven spell to turn the handle.

The Khajiit carried a tray filled with an unusual offering—a large mound of orange slices, and what appeared to be a tumbler of blackberry cordial. The innkeeper said nothing as she set it down by the bed, but her flattened ears and twitching tail spoke for her—she clearly disapproved of her patron's deplorable state.

"The caravan leaves at sunset," the Suthay-Raht announced, staring blatantly at the bare leg poking out of the blanket. Lilia would hide it from view, if that didn't require her to _move_.

"_This_ _one_," the innkeeper pointed at Lilia, stabbing the air with emphasis as she prepared to take her leave, "goes with it."

Lilia nodded with her eyes, not daring to move her head. So she was back at the inn—she had absolutely no memory of her departure. She barely remembered the faint glow of desert dawn creeping into the corners of the room, watching it upside down as she dripped off the furniture. After that..._nothing_.

Reaching to grab a piece of fruit, reconsidering after the merest agonizing twitch, she resorted to her magicka to float it over to her parched mouth. Her spells reflected the state of her body—pathetic and useless. _Qa'khajakh_, as Ahziza would say.

_Ahziza_. That woman, that temptress, that _predator_. At the thought of the Ohmes conflicting emotions swirled up to grab onto her heart, tugging it in a ferocious battle between love and hate. Perhaps both applied equally—she certainly felt _strongly_ about the thief, though what the intense emotion signified she couldn't really say.

Chewing on the orange, juice dripping onto the stinking pillow, Lilia tried to determine how she felt about herself. Ashamed? Angry? Impressed? Even though she'd fallen hard into the hunter's trap, surprised like a napping alfiq woken by the snapping jaws of the senche-raht, she found she couldn't work up the outraged fury she was probably entitled to. After all, she'd _asked_ for it—no, _demanded_ it.

And oh, how she'd then demanded more and _more_...

Swallowing the fruit, she noticed she felt a little better. Further experimentation led her to realize there was more to the meal than sustenance—somehow, in some way, it eased her aches and pains. By the time she felt well enough to sit up and sip at the accompanying beverage, the plate contained nothing but sticky memories.

She still felt awful, but at least she could move without wanting to scream. Her first act involved checking her pack—every ugly, ruined piece of clothing lay securely tucked away inside. Finding nothing missing, she then inspected the unexpected, additional items. The silken annoyances she'd worn yielded curious prizes—the lockpicks she'd whittled, and the practice trap she'd spent so many frustrated hours playing with. Moving to set it back down, she paused when a dull _thump_ reached her ears.

Not having the patience, or the coordination to do it the proper way, she opened it with a spell. A chuckle rumbled out from her chest, followed by a squeaked groan when her body protested the laugh. Unfurling the scrap of parchment, she read it with a bemused grin.

_The prey is worthy. Wear it well, ja'khajiit, as you hunt your sweetest pleasures._

Tugging the amulet over her head, the mundane chill of silver settled on top of her heart. Lilia wasn't sure how to feel about the gift—or if it even was a gift in the first place. She could almost as easily call it payment, or perhaps a bribe. With Ahziza one couldn't so readily tell.

To be given something as rare and valuable by anyone else would be a generous impulse of the highest order. To be given it by a thief who had no use for it, didn't care for it, and considered it unsightly...well, it no longer appeared quite as magnanimous.

Idle curiosity over the gesture occupied the part of her mind that wasn't either throbbing in pain or muzzy with lingering drugs. The hours passed with surprising speed, afternoon slipping away in the idle luxury of cat naps and pleasant remembrances. By the time the innkeeper banged on the door, eager to evict her disreputable guest, Lilia didn't feel exactly well, but she certainly felt better.

Stumbling out into the sunset, blinking against the over-bright glare, it took a few moments before she could properly shade her eyes to see the remarkable change the rare spell of rain had caused. Against the garnet expanse of sunlit dunes, small blossoms flared an impossibly beautiful magenta, miniature examples of patience and perseverance dotting the desert sands.

After passing her bag off to be secured for the long journey, Lilia hiked up to the top of a nearby dune, waiting for the final preparations to finish. Surveying the beautiful landscape, she couldn't help toying with her prize as she listened to the perpetual silken rush of sand ebbing and flowing on the desert breeze. To her surprise she heard the counternoise of something shifting inside the locket.

Curious, she opened it to find an achingly tempting sight—the silver glow of crystallized moonlight blazoning in the brilliance of fiery sunlight. The little grains of sugar winked at her, sparkling with secrets, blinking with bliss.

Suddenly her mouth went dry as an overwhelming feeling of need ran through her. No...it wasn't _need_, sharp and biting, the way hunger or thirst cut straight to the core. No, she felt _want_, an oily, succulent sensation, oozing over her resolve with false promises of enjoyment and the lure of hollow satisfaction.

With a twisted smile, bemusement and disappointment equally upon her lips, she turned the amulet over, loosing its treasure to spill out onto the winds, the grains of sugar to hide in the shadows of the rippling desert sands.

She knelt down, scooping a small amount of sand into the hidden compartment, taking care not to fill it too much. After snapping the lid back into place, she held it close to her ear, tilting it back and forth, hoping it would finally share its secrets.

Her smile blossomed as she listened, almost certain she could hear whispered tales of hunters prowling above the silken sweetness of shifting sands.


End file.
